La Torture du Feu
Siriussy couldn’t believe he was still being forced to go to his lessons. The only other person still eligible for a governmental position was Snarp, seeing as though Jame wasn’t exactly at school, so it felt pretty useless to still train them to compete when there really wasn’t any competition.
“Siriussy? Are you paying attention?” Professor McGoogle asked Siriussy, tapping her wrinkled fingers on his desk impatiently. Siriussy had been attempting to get some well-needed rest in her class as she went over how the selection process went. He’d not been sleeping well since Jame’s kidnapping and besides, both of her two students were going to be selected anyways, what did it matter how it was decided what position they got?
“Yes, Professor,” Siriussy sighed, resigning himself to people please until he could get his arse out of this training centre. There was only a week of lessons left anyhow. Siriussy could manage that.
“Very well.” The woman gave him a curt nod and continued her rambling as Siriussy sat at his desk, forcing his eyes to stay open.
An hour or so later, Siriussy was crawling into 21 Grimace Shake Lane’s secret trapdoor, listening for the usual chatter in Edgylus’ closet, but he didn’t hear anything. That was weird. Siriussy always liked to be fashionably late, so everyone should be here by now…
Siriussy had a knot in his stomach as he entered the closet space where Edgylus was sitting next to Lily, who was typing something on her laptop (A/N: not Lily being a prop in this scene 💀). Remu was nowhere to be found, which was very out of character for him. Remu seemed, to Siriussy, to be a very punctual person. So where could he be?
“Hey,” Siriussy greeted the two, plopping himself next to his brother.
Lily nodded in acknowledgement, but Edgylus stayed quiet and unmoving. Upon further inspection, he appeared to be wholly zoned-out, eyes slightly red from old tears. Siriussy was immediately gripped with concern. What if Remu had died and Edgylus was left without the man he loved? What if the AURORs had killed him? And they were tracing him back to them at this very second?
“What’s going on?” Siriussy’s voice was dripping with fear and he mentally scolded himself for letting it show. “Where’s Remu?”
The name seemed to pierce the thin veil of dissociation protecting his little brother, who appeared immediately wounded, as if kicked in the stomach or sliced with a knife. Edgylus’ face contorted into a look of anguish and his posture collapsed as the weeping began, silent like the moments after a tragedy, but violent like the tragedy itself. Siriussy couldn’t stand the sight of his brother in such agony, but he had no clue how he could help. He didn’t know what had happened. Sigma Merlin’s tits, was Remu actually dead?
“He’s—” Edgylus gasped for air, clutching his chest, body wounded with bullets Siriussy couldn’t see and couldn’t shield him from. “Fuck Sirius—” Edgylus gasped again. “I—I fucked it all up.” With this, Edgylus looked up at his older brother with tears blocking his vision, body shaking. He looked like the little kid Siriussy grew up with. He looked so small.
“Edgy, I don’t—you can’t have…” Siriussy was floundering and the issue was, what words of comfort were there? Edgylus could. He was perfectly capable of doing something so terribly awful that it ended with him broken on the floor of his closet. “What happened?”
“I—” Edgylus tried, mouth poised to continue, but he choked on any sort of explanation, a small whinge replacing any semblance of the English language. He shook his head, looking like he was shaking a bug out of his hair. “I—I can’t.”
“Edgylus—” Siriussy began, eyebrows furrowed, but before he could fit another word, Lily interrupted them.
“I know this isn’t the time, but I think I found our guy.” She glanced up from her laptop sheepishly. Siriussy was immediately at her side, looking at the computer. He would have to deal with Edgy after they found Jame because they were so close.
“Who is it? Where is he?” Siriussy couldn’t make sense of the codes and algorithms dancing across the screen, but that didn’t stop him from reading them all.
“Cunter Cockwise. He’s got a factory in Betapolis…it looks like it’s some sort of front for crime, but I have the address right here.” Lily clicked a few buttons and tapped some of her keys, pulling up an image of an old clothing factory with the address at the bottom. 1234 Five-Six Avenue, Betapolis, SAB.
“Perfect, let’s go right now,” Siriussy said, standing up and brushing off invisible dirt from his shoulders.
“Sirius, that's a terrible idea.” Edgylus stood too, glaring at his brother. His face was tear-stained and red, but he looked quite sure of himself, no longer hysterical.
“But—”
“Edgylus is right,” Lily agreed, standing up as well, just to be at eye-level with the two boys.
“Zakk, please, but thanks.” Edgy nodded in appreciation at the red-head. “See? Evans agrees with me, so just sit back down so we can make a proper plan. We can’t exactly barge into a presumably dangerous man’s crime lair with only three people and no idea what we’re doing, can we?”
Siriussy thought about it for a second. Sure it’d be a bad decision and someone would maybe (probably) die, but… “I mean, technically we can…”
“Siriussy!” Lily and Edgylus groaned at the same time, both taking their places back on the ground in exasperation.
“Okay, okay. We should come up with a plan first,” Siriussy conceded, sitting down again. “And maybe we should get some back-up.”
Jame was cold, hungry, and in immense pain. He—he couldn’t…it was—nearly impossible to form a thought…
All that was going through Jame’s head was:
Cold. Cold. Cold.
Ah, fuck, that hurts…
When is it mealtime? Do they do that here? Have they…ever?
He couldn’t…it was hard to picture Siriu—his face…hair…what was he thinking about? It hurt. It bloody hurt. He…Jame—that was his name—it…everything…hurt. And—and—and…
Jame reached up to his face. Something warm was running down his cheek. Maybe he was crying? But when he retracted his hand to see, his fingers were coated in sticky blood, red like an overripe apple. Jame hissed and tried to jump back from his bloodied hand, but he was laying on the wooden slab the guards claimed was his bed, so he fell to the concrete below.
Jame stopped breathing when his back thudded to the ground, the breath stolen from his lips. He wasn’t—he didn’t…why couldn’t he breathe? Who’d taken his air? Who? Who?
Jame began to flail around on the cold, hard floor, gripping his neck, trying, trying, trying to breathe, breathe, breathe. Where was the oxygen? What—what happened to—to—to…
Jame inhaled.
Why was he on the floor?
Cold, his body told him.
He attempted to stand, using his left hand to brace himself.
Ah, fuck, that hurts, his wrist whigned.
Jame took a sharp breath as the pain reached him completely, white-hot and howling. He just had to—Jame took a deep breath—get on his bed again…
He finally made it to his bed. He sat.
When is it mealtime? His stomach begged.
Jame didn’t know. He didn’t remember the last time he’d eaten or even how long he’d been here…they’d…taken him away…twice. Maybe it had been two days. Maybe it had been two years. Jame’s head hurt too much to figure it out.
His cheek also stung.
What was that trickling down his face?
Jame lifted his hand and gingerly wiped the liquid off of his chin.
It was—
Red.
That means…that it’s…it’s…
What was that on his face? It was warm. Maybe Jame was crying?
Jame brought the rough pads of his fingers to his cheek.
When he brought it back into his eyeline, he saw that it was…
It was…
It—
Was there something on Jame’s face?
“Traitor Potter!” A voice boomed into Jame’s cell, the sound warping in Jame’s ears, the volume causing him to visibly retract into himself.
They were going to—they were going to take him away again. He didn’t—no, he didn’t want to go.
“Too bad! You’re coming with me!” The man was handcuffing Jame, but that hurt and Jame didn’t—no, he didn’t want to go. Please, he didn’t want to. He—he was in…pain…and it—it hurt.
It hurt.
The man yanked Jame through the halls, tugging painfully on Jame’s wrist, which screamed in protest. A different man held a—an electric…stick to Jame’s lower back and when his wrist began howling, the man would press it into Jame, as if he could hear the screams coming from his body.
The lights of the hallways had stark grey floors and white walls, much brighter than the dark greys of Jame’s cell, so he found it rather difficult to see.
He was also…missing something else.
His…glasses. Yeah. His glasses. No wonder he could barely see—
It was rather hard to see anything besides the guards surrounding him. Jame absently wondered why, but decided it was the lighting difference. It didn’t matter anyways. He knew where he was being taken.
The room was dark when he was thrust into it, door slammed behind him. There was one light in the centre, beaming down on a chair. Jame’s chair.
He walked over to it and sat, facing the door. Waiting. They—they were going to…
Jame looked around, suddenly gripped with panic. When—how—where was he? What was going on? Who had taken him here? Not—not this room again. He—he wouldn’t survive this time…they were going to kill him…he didn’t—he wouldn’t compromise his friends. Fuck, had he already? He—he couldn’t remember what he’d said—he couldn’t—what—
Where was he? What was going on? Why was he in this room?
A man entered, light streaming in behind him, forcing Jame to squint against the horrid difference in brightness. His eyes hurt. He couldn’t see properly. His wrist hurt. He was hungry. This room was cold. What—where was he?
“Traitor Potter,” the man spat. He—oh why did he seem so angry? Jame didn’t understand. What—what was going on here? “Great Sigmas, you’re disgusting. That Sigmadrome is really not doing you any favours.”
The man ran a calloused finger over Jame’s slit cheek, eliciting a hiss of pain out of his subject. The man smirked and turned away, walking over to where the door was. Jame prayed he would leave.
“Today, you are going to talk,” the man proclaimed, opening and shutting cabinets and drawers Jame hadn’t even noticed. He couldn’t really see, though. He wondered what that was about. Jame wished the man would just leave.
“I—I don’t understand.” Jame’s voice came out scratchy and slurred. It…surprised him. Scared him. “What am I talking about?”
The man turned around and he was holding…something. Brandishing, more like. “Playing dumb, are we? Well, let’s just say that won’t get you any less punishment.”
“Punishment? I don’t—” But Jame couldn’t finish. Pain bloomed in his nose, the man retracting his fist. He—he—he—
All of a sudden Jame was strapped into the chair—his chair—and the man was…he was hurting him. It hurt.
“Where are your headquarters?” The man shouted, pushing something sharp deeper into Jame’s hand. Jame couldn’t feel anything but the fire licking up his arm, burning him and clawing up to his face, consuming his hand whole, greedily taking his fingers for itself. Jame couldn’t see and maybe that was a good thing. He—he had a feeling he was losing fingers by the moment.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jame wailed, sounding to himself like he was crying. But wasn’t that warmth on his face blood? He distantly remembered learning that.
The man stole the flames away from Jame’s hand, leaving a dull throb behind as he forced the same sharp and slick object into Jame’s cheek. He began pressing in and Jame’s cheeks were crying out for help and he couldn’t see and he was yelling and he was yelling everything he knew. Everything…everything…he…he…he…all the meeting locations he could think of…names…he…he…
When the man finally left the room, Jame couldn’t remember who he was. He was in pain. His right hand was numb and his left cheek was pulsing. His left wrist was silently weeping. His head was pounding. His eyes were pleading with him to just please, shut us. He—he couldn’t—
What had just happened? Why was Jame here? Where was here?
He shifted in his chair, pain shooting up from his confined arms. Why did that hurt?
Jame glanced down at his right hand, a burning sensation having erupted when he tried to move. His eyes went wide and he began to struggle harder against his confines. That—that couldn’t be—it was—his hand—it looked like pulp. He could see bone. He could taste the blood. He could smell the muscle. There was—there was a hole.
What—what was that? There was no way it could be connected to—to his body…Jame attempted to yank himself away from the zombie hand, but it hurt so much and he couldn’t get away from it. It was following him—
The door swung open again and Jame snapped his head up, eyes wild. “Please help me, this—this hand is—I can’t get away from it.”
The woman who had entered looked at him pitifully. She was dressed in white like some sort of angel. But Jame knew she wasn’t an angel when she began pressing cold gauze to his cheek and the zombie hand because it felt like the claws of a demon, scraping, white-hot against the sensitive skin on his face. For some reason the cleaning of the zombie hand caused Jame to hurt as well. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know why she was even bothering with cleaning it if he wanted it to go away. Maybe it had somewhere to be.
Jame was wrapped up quickly by the demon in nurse’s clothing, his entire body screaming as he stood up slowly, the throbbing underneath the gauze he was covered in worsening with each step closer to his cell.
He was escorted by two guards again, but Jame didn’t feel any of the zaps he received. His body was already working overtime to harm him. It didn’t seem like any outside sources could get to him.
When the cell was slammed shut, Jame was cold, hungry, and in immense pain. He—he couldn’t…it was—nearly impossible to form a thought…
He stumbled over to his bed and fell onto it, rather painfully. He—he could dream about Siri—his boy—his—
What was he thinking about?
His face really hurt. And he was cold.
It was also very hard to see…
Where was he?
Who was he?
What…?
Why…?
Wh…?
W…?
…?